Boarding school Teenlock
by starshaker
Summary: When John Watson earns a scholarship at a top boarding school he doesn't truly believe he'll fit in, but despite everything he is working to not let the tragedy of losing his parents become the only thing people see when they look at him. Not like his sister who on the outside appears to be suffering greatly. But then a boy called Sherlock Holmes becomes a definition for JW.
1. Chapter 1

John followed the gentle flowing tune he could hear. It sounded like a violin but it was so soft. It was as if the notes were telling him to find them. He continued down the corridor and past several more doors. From here He could tell the player must surely be in the very last room in front of him. He peered around the crack of the barely open door.

His eyes scanned the room and rested on a boy sat in the windowsill on the far side of the room. He was leant back against the wall and his eyes were shut listening to his own melody as he played. He had very large hands which cupped the instrument and he barely held the piece, rather balanced it as he played. His dark hair was cut roughly and hung just over his ears and a little down his neck.

John leant against the door's frame so he could see the boy a little more through the slim gap. The room was about as small as all the rest with its wooden shelves and cupboard. The one bed John could see looked unmade and there was a small pile over clothes covering the chair he sat just above. However John's eyes returned to him and his violin. John heard a sound behind him but ignored it. Then he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and before he had time to turn around he heard a voice harshly but quietly next to his ear, spoke.

"If you're new, I think you should learn something quick. That boy you're staring at is a freak, and I'm pretty sure you don't want to mess with him. And if I'm completely honest, he wouldn't be interested in people who stare at him through cracks in doorways, probably call you boring or dull." The hand left John's shoulder and he turned to see the mean looking girl he'd seen when he'd arrived.

She pushed him backwards and walked straight past into the room on the opposite side of the corridor where a short weedy looking boy greeted her before closing the door.

The boy John had been watching must have heard the girl talking to John because he was now looking up to the doorway and John saw him smile. However the crack in the door was so small John assumed the boy didn't see him. He stepped back from the door and returned to his room before he was caught b anyone else who thought he needed telling who to stay away from.

About half an hour later, John heard the food bell ring through the corridors. He waited a minute so that a few other people were walking past his door so he could follow them, knowing he'd probably get lost if he didn't. There were dozens of people in this place and John wondered how many of them orphans like him and his sister were. Stepping out of his door he ran into the violin boy stood just in his way, leaning against the wall, acting oblivious to the crowds.

"Excuse me," John said, and the boy looking down at john with the kind of expression that gave John the feeling that he had just woken up from napping there.

"You were listening to me earlier," He said. John looked down, embarrassed.

"It… it was just nice." John stuttered, "My mum used to play, but not that well,"

"You're new, you'll want to eat," The boy in front of John said, as if the two things were connected,

"Err…"

"Come on then," He said quickly, walking away with on strides in the direction of the other kids. John ran to catch up with him; curious about the boy, even more so now.


	2. Chapter 2

"So what classes do you have?" John asked timidly as he sat down opposite the dark haired boy in the canteen. Sherlock he'd introduced himself as, Sherlock Holmes.

John had taken a whole tray full of food from the counter, while his acquaintance had only pocketed an apple.

"I don't," He said,

"What you don't have classes?"

"Correct, But you are on a medical track if I'm not mistaken, lost your parents not so long ago and have a sister to whom you felt no remorse about leaving behind when you came to study here. I'd guess you weren't close since you don't have any pictures with you, not even a group family frame; but that's not to say you don't feel some responsibility for her, a phone call once a week I expect"

"I didn't realise they had all that written on file,"

"Of course they don't; it's written over your face, clothes and room,"

"How the hell could you…"

"I've got to go…" Sherlock said, standing up abruptly, like he'd just remembered something important

"It was brilliant though," John said, still a little amazed. "You've got to tell me how you know all that,"

"I don't know, I observe. And your reaction affirms all of my deductions,"

"Cool,"

"Cool?"

"It's just... reading people like that, it's amazing," John said, trying to figure out where Sherlock may have taken his clues.

Sherlock took another long look at John, frowning, "That's not what people normally say,"

"What do people normally say?" John asked

"Call me a stalker, a freak, tell me to shove off… that sort of thing," John was quiet, not knowing how to react to the boy's statement…

"Would you like to come and help me in the lab?" Sherlock asked.

"I thought you didn't have classes?"

"I don't, but I have an experiment set up that I need to check on,"

"Yeah sure, that's be great," John said jumping up from the table without finishing his lunch, only grabbing what he could fit in his pockets before following Sherlock out into the hallway.

"Where on earth do you get your body parts from?" John asked. Sherlock had led them to a side room from one of the main labs, Room 221B, more like a lab technician's room. There was a laptop in the corner, and piles of papers, chemical bottles, files, bags and other unidentifiable things in jars and beakers all over the small desk. John didn't know whether to be horrified at the possible concoction of chemicals in there or amazed at the experiments Sherlock explained he was working on.

"Most of them are animal, not human. The school won't let me contact the local hospital's morgue," John noticed that Sherlock seemed very annoyed and a little bit upset about this, but he didn't question it, "The eyes though are human, and the thumbs,"

"Is this just your lab?"

"No, but this is the lab of the only teacher in the school who is sympathetic to my endeavours, Mrs Hudson."

"I don't think I saw her on my timetable,"

"She deals with the younger kids more,"

"And she lets you keep thumbs and eyes where the younger kids can see them!"

"She has a curtain she puts over my workstation if she thinks anything is particularly offensive,"

John laughed at ho serious this boy was,

"What?" Sherlock asked, confused about why John was laughing,

"Welcome to Baker Boarding school; where the smart kids pickle eyes and thumbs during their lunch break." John said sarcastically, it even brought a smirk to Sherlock's face.

"I don't pickle them." He said, with mock annoyance, "And I am the only _smart kid,_"

Not long after the bell went for afternoon lessons; John's first lesson.

"Could you tell me where the maths block is Sherlock? I'm meant to be in-"

"Room 130, that's where all top year classes are held, it's the opposite side of the foyer from here, follow the corridor until you come to a potted palm tree and it's the door on the left."

"Potted tree got it. Thank you," John said heading for the door, before he turned again to Sherlock who had sat down at his laptop, "Will you be back in here after classes?" he asked.

Sherlock looked up and John would have sworn it was surprise he saw on the boy's face, no matter how quickly it was masked, "I may be,"

"Okay, I'll see you later then," John called as he left the lab to find his way to a potted tree.

Tem minutes later, he found the door he was looking for.

"Ah Mister Watson, I was wondering if you would be joining us,"

"Sorry, I lost my way a little," He said, the teacher in front of him hadn't even looked up from the book on her desk and John took an instant dislike to her.

"Well sit down then," She ordered. John scanned the room and ended up next to a boy who introduced himself as Greg, from the Rugby team, who would be no help at all if John needed help in this subject.

"Maths is all in computers now; we shouldn't have to endure this!" John laughed a little at his comments and tried to keep up with the notes.

Half way through the 90 minute session Greg nudged him with his elbow,

"What's this about you hanging out with the Holmes' boy? You know him from somewhere before Baker?"

"Who? Sherlock? No, we just started chatting, why who told you?" John asked, a little apprehensive. Greg took out his phone and showed John a text. _Freaks finally got a friend. What do you know about that kid Watson?_

"Donovan's a bit of a cow, but she's one of the quickest finders and spreader's of gossip round here. Always try to stay on the right side of her, you know how it is, she can spread all the lies she likes and people believe them because either they don't

want everyone else to know the truth, or she uses truth to make them believable."

"What does she look like?"

"Darkish skin, dark hair, goes around sneering half the time, her boyfriend is Anderson," Greg said quietly, pointing discretely to the guy sat two rows in front and to the right. John recognised him as the guy who opened the door to the man girl this morning when he first saw Sherlock.

"I think I know who you mean, Donovan that is. I think I already got on the wrong side of her this morning," John said gloomily.

"Oh that's not good mate! We're going to have to make up for lost ground if she decides to turn on you; especially if she thinks you're friendly with Holmes,"

John shrugged; there were plenty of girls like that at his last school, only he's managed to avoid the really spiteful ones more often than not.


	3. Chapter 3

"You said you were going to come back," Sherlock said as he strode into John's room. John was still unpacking but his laptop was set up on the small desk and Sherlock sat down and immediately began typing.

"You said you were going to be in the lab, I checked."

"You could have checked my room"

"Didn't think you'd want me going in there," John said walking over to where Sherlock had brought up a dubious page and was proceeding to log in. Sherlock shrugged and carried on typing. "What are you looking up anyway?"

"British Governmental Asylum seekers, in America. There's someone I'm hoping to find. He went to either America or Turkey; America will make him easier to track."

"Wait? Isn't that all classified?"

"Yes," Sherlock drawled, unconcerned.

"But won't they track it back to _my _computer? Sherlock I could get in big trouble,"

"It's my brother's account. He's aware that I use it,"

"It's still not right, all this stuff, it must be classified."

"Doesn't matter," Sherlock said, dismissing John with a wave of his hand.

John backed off and went to sit on the bed. "Who's your brother anyway? If you can get into these top secret websites,"

"My brother is someone I hope you never meet,"

"Sounds ominous," John said, raising his eyebrows a little and leaning back against the wall behind the bed.

It was this moment that Sherlock looked up at John a look of mild curiosity across his face. His mouth twitched which John assumed was a smile quickly vanquished and John shook his head and looked down to his hands resting on his legs.

"Why…?" Sherlock began and John looked up gazes locked and Sherlock frowned went quiet.

"What?" John asked, slightly amused at the expression on Sherlock's face.

"You're different because you are trying to distance yourself. You family always did what was expected and you continued in their image; conformity came naturally. You resent your sister for drawing attention to herself when you wish to disappear. You also dislike the fact that she doesn't not conform as you and your family did, but you find it entertaining when I do not conform. You find it fascinating. You find me fascinating," Sherlock said, neither boy dropping his gaze from the others.

"Sounds true enough," John replied, shrugging. This only made Sherlock frown further.

"But that's not right, I don't know why,"

"Do you have to know the reason why? I don't think I know,"

"You let me walk in and use your laptop without much argument," Sherlock said squinting at John, examining his reaction.

"Yeah, there's nothing much on there," John said.

"So you trusted me," Sherlock leant forward on the chair so he knees were touching the bed. John looked wary but he didn't shift or fidget.

"If you broke it I'd start using yours in your lab; it looks better than mine anyway,"

"Anyone else here would have chucked me out of their room, probably with a black eye,"

"How often do you try this stunt?" Sherlock shrugged and leant back to close the lid of the laptop. A moment or two later there was a knock on the door,

"John?" John heard Greg shout to him and stood up to open the door. Greg was stood with a football under one arm and more casually dressed than in class earlier. From the angle the door was open Greg couldn't see Sherlock,

"Hey, some of the guys are about to start a game of football out in the yard. Want to join in? You can be on my team, I'm always a Captain.

"Yeah, sure, that sounds good; I'll just grab a jacket. Sherlock. Are you coming?" John asked turning to grab his jacket from behind the door. Sherlock appeared to have resumed typing, only this time on his phone.

"I need to check on my experiments," He said, standing and pushing past Greg who stood there open mouthed.

They watched Sherlock stride down the corridor pushing a girl back into her room who stepped out in front of him

"You really shouldn't let him in your room; it's best if you just leave him alone. Every so often we all hear what sounds like a wild animal rampaging round his room. Nothing will stop it. Usually have to ignore it 'til he calms down. Anyone who tries to go near him really cops it. Anderson was the last one who interrupted him, came out of the room with a broken arm,"

"You should hear my sister in a tantrum," John said, brushing off Greg's comment with a laugh

"I can almost guarantee this would be worse,"

The football game lasted about half an hour, before the pitch turned into a mud field from all the rain they'd been having recently. Once one guy went down, football turned into a pile on and patches of playful wrestling broke out. Suddenly there was a shout "TEACHERS!" And the whole party scrambled. Greg grabbed John and the football and they sprinted back to the dorms covered head to foot in mud. Both boys were laughing despite their stitches.

Due to the amount of boys who were piling into the showers to clean up the mud, John decided just to wash off in the wash basin in his room. However on walking into his room he found Sherlock lounging on his bed.

"Have you decided to swap rooms now or something?" John said, throwing his jacket into the wash basket in the corner of the room.

"Thought you might be hungry after the game, I brought food from the canteen," Sherlock replied, not looking up from his phone but nodding towards the desk where a hot plat of food lay steaming.

"Oh, erm, thank you; but I was going to wash first."

"The food will be long cold if you shower with the rest of them, as will the water."

"I was just going to wash in the basin in here." John said.

"I have a separate shower in my room. My brother had it installed," Sherlock said, still concentrating on his phone.

"A wash will be fine. I'll shower in the morning,"

"The offer stands," Sherlock said dismissively.

"If I'm going to wash could you, err,"

"You'd like me to go?"

"Yes, if you don't mind,"

"I'll be outside, call me when you're done"

"Err sure... I might be a little while. I could just find you in your room when I'm done," John said. He didn't know whether Sherlock heard him or not as the taller boy walked out of the door, closing it behind him, eyes still glued to the phone. For all the show John wouldn't be surprised if it was just a game; but considering what he'd seen of Sherlock, it was doubtful.

John stripped down, throwing the clothes in the wash bin and dug out his wash kit. He was almost done, just his hair to wash the mud out when he heard a commotion outside his door. Throwing on a clean top and jeans he opened his door just as Sherlock was shoved into it. The poor boy hit the door and carried on falling backwards hitting the floor with a thud; leaving John stood facing his attackers.


	4. Chapter 4

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" John asked them, feeling completely out of his depth but confidence springing from wanting to protect Sherlock.

"Don't worry about this Watson. We'll soon have this freak out of your hair," It was the dark haired girl John had been warned to avoid… Donovan or something, and next to her, who John presumed was her boyfriend, a thin weedy looking boy and flanking them, a couple of thug looking boys who were a good few pounds overweight. John could have pointed the group out a mile away as being the school's renowned bullies.

"Seriously, you can forget all about him," One of the larger boys stepped forward and was about to pull Sherlock up by his clothes when John stepped between them.

"I don't think that's necessary, you've already done more than enough,"

"I think my aim was a little off," They guy said, going to push John out of the way, but John held his ground.

"I don't. Please get out of my room."

"Do as he says Lukas," Donovan told the guy and the guy held his hands up in mock surrender and backed away. The four of them turned tails and left, just as a bunch of giggling girls rounded the corner of the corridor at the other end. They took one look at John and the injured Sherlock sat on the floor behind him and the giggling stilled to silence. John didn't wait for their comments and shut the door on them.

"Okay, so what hurts?"

"I'll clean up in my room," Sherlock said, shakily trying to get up. John pushed him back down to being sat on the floor.

"Not what I asked,"

"Nothing's broken, twisted ankle is probable but it hasn't started swelling yet. The rest is cuts and bruises,"

"Good; not much I need to clean up then is there,"

"I can do it myself,"

"Maybe you can, but I'm going to do it," Sherlock resigned himself to being treated like a doll; only flinching as John wiped at the cut to his face across his cheek, a black eye was also palely developing just above it.

When John hand finished Sherlock eyed him warily, like a wild animal caught in a trap.

"I'm sorry, was that really awkward? You just really looked like you needed help, just too stubborn to accept it."

"I should go," Sherlock said, standing and moving to the door before John could stop him. He paused a moment at the door and turned back to John, "Thank you," and the door swung shut behind him.

Now, John thought he'd completely screwed up his first few days at the college: pissed off the school bullied, and made things awkward for the guy he was sticking up for, who actually seemed to want to be John's friend in his own strange way. But no, John had messed up, again.

When he made his way down to breakfast the next morning Sherlock wasn't there so John joined Greg and the group of guys reiterating the match and mud wrestling of the previous evening.

"Hey Watson, you held you own last night pretty well," John shrugged, " Don't suppose you'd be interested for the school team? Gerris is useless,"

"Oi!" Came a yell from the other end of the table.

"You're never there!" The boy turned back to John, "So, You interested?"

"Sure, when is it?"

"Next practice is Friday, Lestrade can grab you a spare kit 'til we get your name printed up," Greg nodded from beside him and John hope that today would go better than the previous.

The lessons were all largely topics he'd covered before so he was glad of being able to keep up. By lunch though he was tired; having not had a good night's sleep in weeks, plus nerves and anxiety eating away at his insides. It was only made worse when he tried to convince himself he was stronger than his weakness. The nightmares were only getting worse. He was in darkness, isolated, reaching out to the things around him and the objects pulled away. Last night his sister had been sat crying into her drink sat on the back doorstep. In his dream she's looked straight at him and walked inside, locking him out. He didn't want to admit what they were suggesting either.

With a decreased appetite he decided to explore the school some more but his feet took him down a recognised route of corridors to Sherlock's small lab. Sherlock wasn't there but the door opened easily. John supposed the thick black residue that covered the window panel on the door deterred most people from venturing inside. Looking around his gaze travelled to the montage of newspaper clippings and printed sheets that filled a wall. All of them were on crimes with highlighted police comments and suspects, even evidence circles with big wording annotated all over them. Most had only one word next to them: WRONG.

"I don't know how he does it," John jumped to see Greg leaning against the door. "It's amazing but don't let him know I said that."

"He probably doesn't hear it to often,"

"He's too busy working to care,"

"Why did you follow me?"

"Because new kids wandering off by themselves get kidnapped by Sherlock Holmes and get experimented on," This time both of them jumped at Sherlock's voice. "I've heard the rumours Lestrade; now get out of my lab,"

"I'm not even in your lab!" Greg objected as Sherlock pushed past him.

"You're close enough to contaminate my experiments,"

"But John's all the way in there!"

"He's allowed,"

"Why?" Greg asked and John really didn't ant things to get difficult so ducking his head down he made to leave.

"Its fine I'll go too,"

"You don't have to," Sherlock caught his arm and John finally had to look up into his bruised face. He felt a twinge of guilt that he couldn't have done more to fix it.

"It's fine. I'll see you later okay, I need to get lunch anyway," John said shrugging off Sherlock's grasp and escaping past Greg who followed post haste to avoid any more interaction with Sherlock.

"How come you're allowed in there?"

"He showed me in there yesterday after lunch, explained his experiments,"

"But he usually throws a shit storm if anyone so much as looks in there, you saw how he was with me and I only stood in the doorway,"

"I guess he doesn't think I can do much harm,"

"I tried to be friendly to him once; he just gave me that cold look and I got the message,"

"There's nothing special about me,"

"You've attracted the attention of the genius recluse, I'd be proud if I wasn't a little weird-ed out,"


	5. Chapter 5

"Sherlock! Sherlock, are you in there?" John called, knocking on the door but receiving no reply. He'd already checked the lab and as at a loss as to where else to look; and asking anyone else was completely out of the question.

"Sherlock, if you're in there please let me in," John was just about to give up when the door handle clicked and the door cracked open. Sherlock looked tired and dishevelled.

"The door was unlocked; you could have come in,"

"I didn't know if you were there, I didn't want to be rude,"

"I let you in me lab," Sherlock said, as if that were a perfectly acceptable reason.

"Bedrooms tend to be a little more personal than laboratories,"

"I walked straight into your room. You didn't object then,"

"You have no consideration for boundaries,"

"Then why would you assume I'd expect you to tiptoe around mine?"

"I…oh never mind. Next time I'll just walk in shall I?"

"Preferably,"

"What were you doing all that time I was knocking on the door,"

"I was working,"

"On what?"

"I'm researching, you'd find it boring," John shrugged,

"Why don't you explain it to me," He said, Sherlock frowned in confusion.

"You want me to explain it… why?"

"Because I've nothing better to do, and it'd be nice to get a look-in to that mind of yours; see what you see,"

"You won't like it,"

"If I get that bored, I'll walk out and leave you in peace," John looked up at him, "Promise,"

Sherlock's furrowed brow softened and the door swung wider.

Sherlock dropped down on to the bed, leaning on the pillows and John leant against the wall at his feet.

"So what have you been looking at?" John asked, as Sherlock looked nervous and reluctant to start.

"Eating and nutrition habits and patterns. I use my body merely as transport, but to enhance the mind I'm researching different eating habits. There's a tribe in the Brazilian rainforest who…" And from there it started; Sherlock reaming off facts and figures, and planning experiments of his own. John sat listening to every rise and fall of his voice. At one point John let out a wide yawn he had previously be stifling and Sherlock stopped abruptly.

"Am I boring you?"

"No, no, just tired, carry on, just kick me if I start to doze off,"

Sherlock was now lying flat out on the bed, with the laptop balanced precariously on his stomach, and his legs stretched out so that he could dig his toes into John's thigh each time he noticed John's eye's falling closed. A couple of times there were pictures or diagrams and Sherlock found it easier to show John as he explained. Eventually the two boys were sat shoulder to shoulder, and from that position Sherlock didn't notice John had well and truly fallen asleep, until his companions head fell to rest on his shoulder.

Startled, he looked down on John's mess of hair warily. It was completely new to him to have some one trust him enough to rest by his side. The contact and warmth was also something Sherlock hadn't experienced since he as a very young child. Science had made him detached from such experiences; feelings and empathy made mad you subjective, open to ill-formed interpretations of events.

And yet he couldn't identify the reasons behind John Watson's behaviour; his courage, friendship and loyalty, all formed in a few short days. Sherlock knew he couldn't show weakness by asking John why he was acting the way he was. It certainly wasn't with aggressive, malicious or negative intentions, as that was what he had attempted to protect Sherlock from when he faced down Sally Donovan and the repulsive Anderson. Sherlock cringed at the thought of how her cronies who take their revenge. He'd already picked up on the rumours of how she as going to have the 'freak and his boyfriend' out of the school by Christmas. Sherlock shuddered at the thought of being forced out of his only real home, but the movement made John fidget in his sleep. Sherlock carefully dropped his laptop down to rest on the floor and positions John more comfortably so he would not wake with a crick in his neck. He then settled himself to think.

As John hazily awoke, the warmth pressed against his side reminded him of when he was a child, sharing a bed with his sister whenever either of them had a nightmare. But he hadn't been that close to his sister in years. John opened his eyes to see it was Sherlock Holmes he had been sleeping against. He jumped away from him in shock and hit the wall with a thump; his heart was hammering and his mind spinning with the thought of 'I fucked up again'

"Sorry, God, I'm so sorry, I…"

"Are you alright John?"

"What?"

"You've just woken up and thrown yourself into my bedroom wall. Have you hurt yourself?" Sherlock asked, completely unperturbed by John's erratic behaviour, "John?"

"I'm fine, probably just a bruise," John said, rubbing the spot with his hand. Sherlock nodded once, and then refocused on the blank wall opposite the ed. John watched him as calm but not peaceful expression covered his face.

"Why did you let me sleep like that?"

"Shh, thinking," John felt a little uneasy,

"I'm just going to, uh, go,"

"Why?" Sherlock snapped out of his trance.

"You're thinking, I don't want to disturb you," John stuttered, Sherlock's brow furrowed.

"You weren't distracting me before,"

"I was asleep,"

"So? Go back to sleep,"

"I was sleeping _on _you,"

"I didn't mind," John looked at Sherlock, surprise dropping his mouth open, speechless. Sherlock simply looked back at him; obstinate and bored.

"Sherlock, I…"

"What?" Sherlock snapped,

"I, uh…never mind," John slumped down.

"If I had been uncomfortable, I would have asked you to move. I wasn't, and you were tired. There was no need to wake you,"

"Uh, Thanks,"


	6. Chapter 6

For John, it wasn't that things became more awkward after that impromptu nap, but rather more predictable awkward that after several more of walking into Sherlock's room to find him half dressed and researching on his laptop, Sherlock throwing himself down on John's bed in a sulk…at two in the morning. The embarrassment only came when the rumours did: of First years seeing Sherlock Holmes coming out of that new boy's room and going down to breakfast. Then, in free periods when John tried to escape the judgemental looks and snuck into Sherlock's lab to complete is work.

"I knew I'd find you in here,"

"Greg, hi. He's not here you can come in,"

"He'd probably know. Could see my footprints or smell my soap,"

"He's not psychic,"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Lestrade shrugged and John chuckled. "Look John, I'm sorry to ask but I thought…"

"What?"

"Well whatever you've got going on with Sherlock,"

"We're friends, I think."

"I guess with Sherlock's attitude,"

"If you're putting any credence in Donovan's rumours…"

"I know, I should know better. We all have our soft spots,"

"Dare I ask how Donovan's your soft spot?"

"Best not," Lestrade rubbed the back of his head and his neck as he spoke and John shrugged.

"Sure, hey are your ready for that rugby match next week?"

"That's debatable. Half our team's down with the flu,"

"Oh, uh sorry about that, I know a lot of people have that"

"No it's fine, we're not going to cancel the game, just might be a man or two down,"

"I'd be good to play, if you need someone."

"I'll mention it to the coach, thanks,"

"I used to play a little, but it's been a while,"

"I'll let you know and there should be practices this weekend for you to get back into practice,"

"Yes, sure,"

"I'll see you around John," John nodded and waved as he left. It wasn't two minutes before Sherlock walked in.

"Why did you say you'd play rugby?" Was the first thing Sherlock said as he walked in.

"What is wrong with rugby Sherlock?" John said, rolling his eyes and continuing with his work.

"You're out of practice, you'll get injured,"

"It's an under 18's game, I've only been out of practice for 6 months, and I'll get back into it this weekend at training," John looked up to see Sherlock still frowning down at him.

"The game is based on brute strength and reliance on team players. You need have either the consistent reserve of strength or the knowledge of team mates attributes,"

"I shalln't take that as an insult, and I've agreed to play now so I don't see why you would deem it in any way positive for me to back out. I'd lose the chance for there to be a next time and I'd lose any the respect I may have gained from the others; God only knows I seem to be lacking in both."

"Why are you concerned over the esteem of others?"

"Its my choice if I want to play or not Sherlock, unless you can give me a good reason why I shouldn't I shall continue to play this weekend and the game next week,"

Once again Sherlock sulked, and John was so used to it by now there was nothing out of the ordinary. Only upon reflection did he reconsider the wording of his request: good reason. Only Sherlock would interpret 'good reason' as reasonable proof ands evidence, as he later argued in every way apart from saying 'I told you so'.

So now John lay on the bed, dosed with three types of painkiller flooding his system his shoulder dislocated and his lower left knee sprained. Sherlock was right though, and without having reasonable proof John had dismissed his request to back down from playing rugby. As it turned out, Donovan had paid off some of her friends from the opposing college and they'd discretely targeted the new player with their attacks. By the time the Referee called it John was receiving medical care and being taken for checks at the local hospital.

Sherlock had attended his first ever sports game and John had seen him watching from the back of the crowds surrounding the pitch. Of course that had been moments before he took the first hit, the warm appreciation he'd been feeling at his friend's support vanishing as a player twice his size barrelled into his shoulder.

Sherlock currently sat next to the bed reading an obscure looking book on beekeeping. He'd politely declined being asked to leave when the nurse had asked him to allow John time to rest and recover, and promptly pointed out her insomnia, 3 day old blouse and curable lisp. He hadn't said a word to John since he'd arrived. While he continued to be absorbed in the book John looked at his friend, finding no smirk, yet no concern either. Frustrated, John lay down, his back to Sherlock and attempted to sleep.

"Any deductions you attempt to make in this condition will be flawed by the pain medication dulling your cognitive ability,"

"Thank you,"

"Why are you thanking me?"

"It was merely an observation. I believed you would prefer this to a babbling bedside manner,"

"Any other deductions you think I want to hear?"

"They've bandaged your knee incorrectly; you'll be limping for twice the expected recovery time,"

"Oh joy," John mumbled into the pillow.

"Would you prefer I return to solely focusing on my book?"

"One more question, and then yes,"

"Hmm,"

"Why are you sat here at all? I'm waiting for you to yell bored! And walk out,"

"I can sit in one placed for an extended period of time without being expressing my boredom,"

"And this is one of those times,"

"Company accelerates recovery periods in most cases of injury,"

"Right. Uh, goodnight Sherlock,"

"Goodnight John,"


	7. Chapter 7

"Why didn't they call your sister when you were brought in here? She'd be your emergency contact right?" Sherlock asked two days later, John was to be released in two days time.

"How do you know they haven't and she just hasn't come?"

"They tend to inform the patient and their visitors of that sort of action,"

"Sherlock, how much time do you spend in hospitals?"

"I endured frequent visits as a child, you're avoiding m question, which means you know they wouldn't have called her anyway. Why isn't she you're emergency contact, you clearly have no closer associates,"

"Sherlock, my emergency contact is my parent's solicitor, and I certainly don't need him sat by my bedside. The school know that," John explained only to illicit a frown from his companion.

"Why do you insist on isolating yourself?

"That's rich coming from you," John replied indignantly.

"I don't isolate myself; I just refrain from integrating myself fully with the social norms so as to become the observer, for the sake of knowledge,"

"That's ridiculous, and I integrate myself; the whole reason I'm here was because I was playing a team sport if you remember," John gestured to the bland room around them

"Considering your fairly recent tragic circumstances, little other family interaction, your lack of emergency contact and your…interest in sharing your time with me leads me, by comparison to widely accepted norms and customs, to assume you are detrimentally affecting your mental, emotional and ultimately physical health," Sherlock finally hazarded a glance at the now dumbstruck John, "I, I'll leave now," Sherlock stood and hurried towards the door.

"Now wait a minute, Sherlock. Sherlock!" John's calls fell on deaf ears as the door swung shut.

"Stupidest smart person I've ever met," John grumbled to himself over the rather stomach churning lunch he'd been served.

"Well that's a rather blunt way of putting it," Came a voice from the doorway, A rather chubby man stepped forwards, mid twenties was John's guess, though his suit covered slight bulge of stomach it appeared to add years to his image. The man's hair was slicked back which gave him a snide superiority John took an instant dislike to.

"Can I help you?" John asked, only hoping the man had the wrong room.

"I believe perhaps we can help each other, I am Mycroft Holmes, I know you are familiar with my younger brother Sherlock," John shook the offered hand but made no reply.

"My brother has many qualities to take offense from, though in your case, I'm surprised to see the one you're exposed to most often is vaguely similar to self-sacrificing. I can't help but wonder why"

"I don't know what you want from me to say to that,"

"I'm always trying to learn more of my brother, he's grown away from me as he's…found his calling a suppose you might say,"

"Growing away from each other? I can't imagine prying into his life behind his back would do anything to solve that,"

"Come now John, can't you see how I might want to look out for my younger brother?"

"You have a relationship with someone by talking to _them_. I'm no informant, nor do I want to be involved in a family argument,"

"And ye you would pick Sherlock's side regardless. Do not mistake my intentions John, my sources reveal much of Sherlock's activities, though I would prefer it if there were a more personal way for me to find out how to relate to my brother, so I might be in the position to help him,"

"From what he's told me he wants nothing to do with me now anyway, find someone else who has a little more investment in what he's doing. Donovan perhaps, she seems to keep a good track of him, even got the pack hounds just like I suspect you have," Mycroft looked slightly indignant at John's strong refusal gave a sharp nod and reached into his jacket pocket.

"If you ever believe you may wish to help me help Sherlock, do not hesitate to try and reach me," He handed over a small business card and John didn't even glance at it but continued not to break gaze with the elder Holmes.

"It was nice to meet you John; I do hope you recover soon,"


	8. Chapter 8

The school grounds were horrible to travel on crutches. Greg did his best to stick around when he shared classes with John to clear the way between classes, and Molly happily sat with him during lunch and breaks. Her friends were off with their boyfriends and she'd been inconsiderately left behind. John appreciated their time and vaguely interesting chatter; and both carefully avoided the subject of Sherlock. Sherlock had poignantly avoided John, since he'd returned to school. John had tried texting him but the messages would be unable to send. The lab was always empty and most of the articles and newspaper clipping had disappeared from the walls when John peered through the window of the locked door frequently, until 'why do I bother' won out over 'maybe he'll be there'.

Catching up on the classes was easy; a few worksheets and a couple of tutorials and John was once again averaging the high grades across his classes. Right on track for the medical career, Sherlock's presence wasn't needed for him to carry on as always. His mum had always told him he was the rational, reasonable and competent one of the family. She must have known about Harry's activities no matter how had John had tried to keep them from becoming common knowledge. John couldn't help but take slight refuge in his mother's descriptions of him when he felt at a low. The lows came ever more prevalently when the doctors told him he would likely suffer pains in his leg for months if not years. He swallowed another two painkillers and lay back on the bed staring up at the blank ceiling. The sounds of people walking past on the old wooden floor kept him focussed and from falling asleep before dinner, he could trace which direction people were passing, hear snippets of their conversation. He thought about how Sherlock would probably be able to tell the person, the clothes the shoes and what they had been doing all day from the sound of their walk on the floor.

"Shake out of it Watson," He muttered to himself, almost cursing too but he stopped himself, again thinking of what his mother would say; getting worked up about something so futile.

Across his desk his mobile vibrated across the top of a book where it had inevitably been dropped. It took seconds for John to snatch it up. He surprised himself with the snap expectation that it would be Sherlock texting him. It then took a lot of effort not to throw the phone across the room when the message read: _There are ways and means of putting yourself in Sherlock's path should you wish to lend me your assistance – MH_

After a couple of weeks it quietly surprised John how quickly he was disassociated with Sherlock, especially by Sally Donovan when not three weeks later she approached Greg where the next after match party was being held; she boasted about how she was able to get plenty of drinks ordered in for them. John's attention drifted to stare out of the window for some time.

"You'll be coming too right!" John turned when Greg shouldered him to get his attention. John looked up between his friend and Donovan unsure of what response she would react to least.

"Uh…"

"Of course he is. I've seen you manage with only one crutch so you won't look totally out of place. Besides you can't let your previous association with the freak ruin all your future social interactions," John tensed and but he caught Greg's wary look shot at him and didn't say a word.

"Great, so you'll both be there Friday after the game," She left in a hasty blur, rejoining a larger group and leaving the canteen.

"She really doesn't get it…"

"Oh she gets it. Knows she can get away with saying it at least. No one calls her out on the attitude. Well no one apart from uh… never mind,"

"You won't get cursed if you say his name near me or anything y'know," John snapped, irritation making the comment even more sharp. Greg recoiled a little which prompted a little guilt in the back of John's mind.

"Yeah, I know sorry. Uh, should we see if Molly's going to the party?"

"Yeah…"

John leant back and steadied himself on his elbows as the truth or dare game around him dissolved into lies accusations and chaos. He was still surprised he had been invited to the party since the rumours of friendship with the infamous Sherlock Holmes caused him nuisances almost daily. However now, for a couple of hours, all such comments had disappeared as the alcohol infiltrated the teens' bloodstreams.

John could feel the buzz of the alcohol at the edge of his senses, but looking around the truth or dare players it was clearly having a greater effect on some of the others. Greg and a girl from the neighbouring school had excused themselves about half an hour ago but he spotted Molly across the room. Her back was up against the doorway, and she was talking to a dark haired boy in a blazer jacket which seemed a little out of place from the casual clothes jocks jackets filling the room. He was about to look away, feeling he was intruding on their privacy when he realised that Molly seemed to be glancing away from him and around the room; she caught his eye and John suddenly realised she looked very uncomfortable squashed between the doorframe, the guy and a group of others pressing in behind her. John pushed himself to his feet and walked over.

"Hey Molls," He called as he approached; "I was going to get some air for a minute, want to join me?" The guy she was with glanced up but made no move to stop crowding into Molly's space. Molly backed up a little more, but she stumbled into a girl behind her and received a glare in return.

"She's fine, she doesn't need a minder" The guy interjected, sliding a hand around Molly's waist. From w here he was staring down John he missed Molly's momentary expression of disgust which was followed by a concentration John was used to from the classes they shared. Moving swiftly John barely saw a subtle but significant crack sounded. The boy pulled his arm away cradling his hand.

Molly twisted out of his grip, grabbed John's arm and pulled him from the room. He caught a glimpse of Greg as they left. The string of profanities the followed them had drawn quite a crowd but John nodded to him that they was nothing to worry about and no doubt soon went back to impressing the brunette he had his arms around.

"Not to sound intimidated, but what did you do to him?" John ventured as they slowed their pace and headed back down the road to the school's campus. The cold night air was as sobering as coming to terms with Molly's capability to handle herself. John couldn't help but be a little, no a lot impressed.

"Dislocated his finger," Molly huffed a nervous laugh, "I suppose I didn't give him any warning but I don't think it would count as an unprovoked attack," She was rambling slightly but John thought he would be more surprised if she weren't. "I mean he could press charges, but there's like a whole room of people who would say I acted in self defence. But none of them did anything to help, apart from you, that is. Oh God!"

"Hey, hey. The guy deserved it. He was the one who said you didn't need a minder,"

"He won't be able to take painkillers for it until the alcohol is out of his system either,"

"Where'd you learn that anyway?"

"Dad's in the police, so you pick things up. The rest is physics and biology,"

"Ms Turner would be proud," John rested a hand on her shoulder reassuringly as she slowed her breathing and began to calm down a little.

"You don't think they'll find out do you?" She stopped walking and John had to, in turn, turn to look at her. "Its just I need their recommendations and references for my entrance to med school. If I lose that…"

"No! No. Mol, if anything this'll count towards you getting in," He chuckled, "You applied knowledge in a high tension situation that required quick thinking and action. I can see it in your personal statement already,"

"I wonder what the university lecturers would think reading _that,_" She laughed nervously again but they continued on walking.

"Intelligent, capable, determined, hardworking, independent thinker," He listed them off on his fingers until she elbowed his side.

"John Watson if you're trying to make fun of me!"

"I'm not I promise," He raised his hands in mock surrender, "I've enough broken and bruised at the moment," He said waving the cane he had been using for the evening. Molly nodded sympathetically.

"I guess they don't make painkillers for everything though do they,"

"They're fine for my leg, barely feel it. But taking them just seems… the pain just seems a bit endless you know. They said months or years Mol,"

"But that's not all that's hurting you is it,"

"I'm working through my parent's death, I'll be okay," Molly stopped outside her housing block and turned to look at him as if he was completely missing the point.

"Yes John. You'll be okay. Things won't be like this for much longer," She smiled and pulled him into a brief hug. "Thank you for walking me back,"

"No problem. I'll text Greg, tell him we got back okay,"

"Did he see what happened?" She ducked her head as a blush began to spread.

"He would have to be deaf not to overhear those curses. I'm sure he's hear all about it by now," Molly groaned and covered her face in her hands.

"They'll be more concerned by their hangovers that your heroics by tomorrow morning Mol,"

"Yeah?" She looked up hopefully.

"Yes."

"Okay, goodnight John," John nodded and watched as she let herself in before turning and heading back to his own room. Intending to text Lestrade he pulled out his phone to see he had several missed messages.

_00.58 – Down by the lake. Assistance required –SH_

_01.03 – Come at once if convenient – SH_

_01.05 – If inconvenient come anyway – SH_

_01.23 – John please_


End file.
